Doctor, I'm in Love With a Ghost
by SilentLikeAShadow
Summary: Post series-finale, what happens when a bloody Gregory House shows up at Cuddy's front door? Might be slightly AU.
1. Not A Hallucination

_The satin white dress spilled across the floor as she arched her back..._

Cuddy was fast asleep in her master bedroom, in her house, in Hartford, Connecticut. She was not wearing a satin white dress, but a long, loose shirt that used to belong to a certain special doctor...

_Cuddy threw her body upwards dramatically, the motion causing her to rise to her knees. Suddenly, the only light in the dimly lit room was blocked, and she peered up at the source._

The clock rang out 1a.m.

_Blue eyes and a devilish grin met her gaze, and she couldn't help but blush a little and smile back. The man was wearing a comical suit, complete with a red bowtie and top hat. He extended a candy cane cane towards her, and she latched on._

In bed, Cuddy trembled slightly. The wind blew gently outside.

_The man started to pull her across the floor, and Cuddy laughed, whispers of _"Get happy"_ and _"Get ready" _ringing in her ears._

She flipped onto her other side.

_It was all good fun, until her arm started to ache from the strain, and her dress started to feel uncomfortable..._

Cuddy broke out into a sweat.

_She yelled at the man to stop, but he continued to run, his back turned to her. Her dress felt too tight and she became super claustrophobic in it – she couldn't breathe._

The streets were quiet and empty outside.

_She was screaming hysterically now, feeling her chest tighten. The man only ran faster. Suddenly, the dress burst into flames, and she was truly suffocating in the smoke. Her cries were soundless, and utter hopelessness engulfed her, accompanied by the sound of his laughter –_

The telephone rang out into the night, and Cuddy shot upright, breathing heavily. Her clothes stuck to her wet, clammy skin, and she gasped for air. Her eyes adjusted, and she realized she was safely at home, not on fire, in her bed. She started to sob - not sure if it was out of happiness or horror – and she clutched her knees to her stomach.

The phone continued to ring.

Cuddy stumbled out of bed and made her way downstairs, stopping every so often to support herself on something and overcome her nausea. She finally made it to the kitchen and checked the clock: 1:30 a.m. She reached for phone.

"Hello?" She tried to steady her wavering voice, expecting it to be the hospital calling.

It wasn't.

"Hello?" She repeated when there was no reply. She grew frustrated as she listened to silence.

"Is anyone there?!"

Finally, it wasn't just silence. Cuddy could decipher steady breathing. It sounded labored and deep.

"Are you alright? Hello!?"

The breathing hesitated. "I –" The voice sounded broken and sick. Though she couldn't understand much else, she knew it was male.

"Sir, do you need a doctor?" She asked rather impatiently, another wave of nausea hitting her.

The breathing continued, and then there was a dial tone. Confused and irritated, Cuddy put her phone back down on the receiver. That was an unnecessary, pointless phone call. Probably a prank. Still, Cuddy shivered. She rechecked her locks and security system – all was good. Rachel was sound asleep. She was fine. She crawled into bed and fell asleep again, more exhausted than creeped out.

_She could feel his presence right in front of her, but her vision wasn't clear, and she could only partly see. He was very close, and Cuddy had two hands on his chest. All she could see was a tuxedo, and a white rose pinned to it. _

The night rolled on.

_She was now aware of a veil draped over the back of her head and neck, and as she looked down, she recognized the white dress. Panic rose._

Rachel shifted in her sleep, but besides that, the house was quiet and peaceful.

_She could hear his breathing, very close to her ear, and when she tried to look at his face, all she glimpsed was graying stubble. _

The predawn hours approached, and the neighbourhood was caught up in a deep, comfortable slumber.

_She was frozen with fear and went still as all her senses dulled. Her body tensed and suddenly there was a burst of sound, light, and smell. She heard a huge crash and the smell of burning rubber, but as the flash faded, her vision reduced back to what it was. She saw rubble at her feet. She whipped around, only to hear Rachel's terrified scream –_

Cuddy woke up again and immediately ran to her daughter's room. Rachel was exactly how she had left her, and was complacently sucking her thumb. Cuddy leaned on the doorframe, completely soaked in sweat, and steadied her breathing. Once composed, she wrapped herself up in a house coat and made her way downstairs.

It was only 4:30, but Cuddy knew she wouldn't fall back asleep now. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against her counter in the dark kitchen, sipping periodically.

Abrupt knocking started at the door. Cuddy's head whipped around and she froze, the glass halfway to her lips.

The knocking persisted for a little and then paused. Then it started again, softer but still urgent. Cuddy took a few hesitant steps towards the door. She flicked on the hall light and froze. The knocking also stopped, but only for a second.

For some insane reason, Cuddy thought it sounded desperate and not at all threatening. She must be out of her mind, she thought, it could be a lunatic serial killer behind that door!

She didn't know why, and she still doesn't, but she opened the door anyway, and couldn't believe her eyes. Her jaw dropped.

Startling, uncertain blue eyes met hers, and she immediately recognized them. He looked so different from what she'd remembered. His hair was messy and greasy, his clothes filthy and stained. He was hunched over, as if in great pain, and his face had new wrinkles. He was tanned from days in the sun, and he looked much older. There was something about him though – he was pale and sweaty, and seemed almost _haunted_. He gave one paranoid look up and down the street and stumbled into her house.

Cuddy was too stunned to formulate a thought and simply stood aside as he brushed past her. She closed the door on instinct and turned to a bloody, vigorously panting Gregory House.

They stared at each other down for what seemed like centuries – he was barely conscious. She eventually managed to speak. "But- I- You- They- H-Ga-Wha- How is this possible?" She stuttered, tripping over her own words. "I- You- They said- It's not! You're – You're – " Her eyes widened. "_You're dead!"_

House winced. "So I guess that means you won't call the cops?"

Cuddy didn't have the chance to answer before he collapsed onto her floor.


	2. An Explanation

**Hectic next few weeks, update might be in a while.**

Cuddy stared down at House, jaw still gaping. She forced herself to breathe, feeling like she was going to choke.

She was hallucinating. She had to be.

Gregory House was not unconscious on her floor. He couldn't be. The man was _dead_!

And yet.

Cuddy felt her heart speed up as she dropped to a crouch. She pressed two fingers to his neck. He was hot, and sweaty... And he had a pulse. _What?_ She pressed an ear to his mouth and heard shallow breathing. All too familiar breathing.

She flew backwards, scrambling heavily into the wall. The breathing reminded her of the phone call and the nightmare. A hand flew to her chest. _Breathe,_ she told herself. _Just breathe._

Tentatively she crawled forward towards him, trying to find the source of the blood. It had stained his shirt but it didn't appear to be his own. Still, Cuddy gently removed the fabric. Ugly bruises covered his lower abdomen. She winced and pressed a finger to the purple area – swollen. He needed treatment.

She pushed herself up to her feet and made her way back to the kitchen. She removed an ice pack from the freezer and wrapped it up in paper towels, stumbling back to House, functioning more on autopilot and instinct than anything.

She was contemplating how to get him onto the couch when House came back to. Cuddy watched as his eyelids struggled to open, and when they did, the blue startled her as they did every time.

He stared at her for the longest time, and her at him. Questions sparkled in her eyes.

"Think you can make it to the couch?" She whispered. He nodded and slowly got up, limping to the couch. Just as he rounded the corner of the room, he stumbled, but Cuddy slipped under his arms and was there to catch him. He turned to her, and her to him, and the two blinked at the closeness and looked away.

Once House had lain down, Cuddy fussed over him. She placed the ice pack on his chest and wrapped the rest of him in blankets. Still, he seemed uncomfortable and in pain. Cuddy had an idea and ran off, returning with a glass of water and Ibuprofen.

House raised a hand to accept the pills, but Cuddy pushed it away. "Hush," she said, and slipped 3 pills into his mouth.

House stared at and studied her as she poured the water in between his lips, and Cuddy ignored him. Satisfied with her handiwork, Cuddy settled back in the chair opposite. House eyed her, and they continued their little staring match.

Eventually he fell asleep, and Cuddy's mind switched off autopilot.

He was real. Alive. It wasn't possible that he was a hallucination.

How? They'd informed her he was dead – multiple times. Yet here he was, lying on her couch. Cuddy shook her head – she'd figure this out tomorrow. There were more pressing issues at hand.

She dialed the first speed dial on her phone.

"Yes?" A familiar male voice answered. Cuddy relaxed.

"Sorry to wake you, Tom, but I need a favor." She bit her lip.

"At five in the morning?" He sounded tired.

"Yes, it's urgent. Quite urgent."

"Okay, what do you need me to do?"

"Can you come get Rachel and take her to school today? Something has... come up." She pleaded.

"Sure, babe, what time?"

"Seven-thirty, please. Oh, thank you so much! I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything. Love you," Tom replied, voice filled with affection.

"Love you, too," she breathed, heart flipping. She hung up and turned to House, sighing.

She made herself tea – when in doubt – and curled up on the chair in front of him. Sipping her tea periodically, she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, letting it soothe her mind.

* * *

Cuddy spent the day doing housework. She called in sick, taking the day off. House drifted in and out of consciousness, but he was never up for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

She made him chicken noodle soup and spoon-fed him, and he didn't say a word the whole time he was awake. Cuddy was dying inside to ask questions, but every time she brought up the courage to ask, he was starting to drift off. Every time he looked at her apologetically, but she nodded and told him to sleep.

In the late afternoon, she found him awake as she checked in after a jog.

"Hungry?" She asked. He shook his head, and Cuddy sat on the chair facing him, cross-legged. She was aware she was sweaty and out of breath, but she couldn't stand it anymore – she needed answers. House was aware that she wanted them _now_, and propped himself up to a sitting position, grimacing. Cuddy looked on expectantly. House was silent for a very long time, seemingly organizing his thoughts.

"What did they tell you about my death?" He finally started, slowly, choosing his words with care.

Cuddy shifted, returning to her memories of that day half a year ago. "I got the call from the cops first. They informed me that your body had been identified from the ruins of a burnt building. They were certain it was you – the dental records confirmed it. I got a similar call from Wilson a few days later."

House nodded. "Makes sense. Did you hear from Wilson afterwards?"

"No," Cuddy said slowly.

"But you knew what was..." House swallowed. "Going on?"

Cuddy averted her gaze. "Yes, I knew about the cancer. The last time I spoke to him, before your death, though, was the argument over his treatment plan."

"So you knew it was stage II thymoma, then?"

Cuddy nodded, meeting his gaze again. House dropped it.

"He had five months to live around the time I 'died'," House explained quietly.

Cuddy squeezed her eyes closed. That was six months ago now. "So... You're saying... He's..."

House nodded, voice pained. "Yes."

Pain shot through her, and her vision blurred. "When? How?" She choked, desperate for answers.

"About three weeks ago. It metastasized to his liver, and at the very end, to his brain." House let her absorb this. Cuddy was enveloped with grief of an unbearable level.

_James Wilson is no more._

"But you...?" She finally asked.

"Yes. Here's the story: I had a case that involved a drug addict. He told me he sold heroin – I needed something exciting in my life, something to take away the mounting pain." He paused and toyed a pillow with his thumbs. "As you know, I went on parole after a decently short jail time."

Cuddy looked down, recognizing the uncomfortable place they were headed. House found it difficult to bring up the old memories.

"They had me on a tight leash, especially after I tried to wiggle out of it so many times. But as the months past, the parole and its boundaries were pushed to the back of my mind. More pressing issues were at hand, like Wilson's situation."

Cuddy looked back at him. She could see it in his eyes; he was somewhere far away, not in her living room. "Then a prank went wrong – it involved plugged toilets and soaked MRI machines – and my parole was revoked. I was to go back to jail for six months, and that was after pulling some strings, and Wilson only had five to live."

He checked to see if she was following; she nodded. "I needed to find a way to get out of it, even just for the amount of time I had left with Wilson. There were solutions, but I knew all weren't foolproof and some even failed beforehand. When all seemed lost, I turned to the patient I mentioned before."

He paused for a long time, and Cuddy felt as if there was something he wasn't telling her.

"The next thing I remember is being in a burning building. The chance arose; if I could fake my death, I could escape my sentence and be with Wilson. I did- I didn't even let him know until absolutely necessary. I switched the dental records, made sure everyone knew I was dead without a doubt."

Cuddy nodded. "I get it now. You're not dead, but you're 'dead'. What about the next few months?"

House stiffened, his voice laden with grief. Cuddy observed him; felt his pain.

"We went on a road trip across America on motorcycles. Made a bucket list and planned it all before we left. And it was good." He swallowed.

"He got very sick just outside of Las Vegas. We were planning on going to California next and then heading back east through Arizona, but we never made it to the golden state. He died in the Boulder City Hospital in Nevada."

Cuddy found this hard to take, but she knew the story wasn't over yet. "And then what happened to you?"

"Wilson left all his money to me, seeing as I couldn't access my own since I'm 'dead'. For half a week I spent most of it on booze and other grief-relievers. When it started to run out, I realized I needed somewhere to go. Everyone knew I was dead and attended my funeral. There was nowhere left to go..."

"You could've turned yourself in. You should've..."

"And I will pay, one day, but it's too soon, Cuddy. I can't, not yet. I figured you were my best bet. You weren't at the funeral, you don't know much about anything that was happening back home. So, please, don't turn me in."

Cuddy hesitated, looking at him.

"Not yet." He repeated.

She reluctantly agreed. "Fine, not yet. We'll discuss this later, continue. How'd you get the bruises?"

"I was drunk in a bar in small-town Pennsylvania. Money was running low, and it's hazy, but I remember getting into a fight."

_Oh, God._ "The blood?"

"I didn't stab him or anything; though the sonovabitch deserved it. The blood was from his nose; it started gushing after the third swing. Then he repeatedly hit me with a bar stool, which caused these bruises. I was close to here, and I made it the same night after a long haul of hitchhiking."

"How'd you know where I live?"

"Wilson's contacts, reverse phone lookup." He replied. "That's it, here I am."

Silence encircled them.

"I won't call the cops," Cuddy started. "Yet. You're in no shape to do anything but rest. You can stay here for now."

House looked relieved. "Thank you."

Cuddy nodded absentmindedly, still absorbing everything. By the time she refocused, House was asleep again.

* * *

An hour or so later, Cuddy stepped out of the shower. Her mind was still reeling over all this information, and the 45 minute shower hadn't helped much. So much as still to be discussed.

She put on a housecoat and wrapped her hair up in a towel, padding to her bedroom, where she quickly threw on some clothes. She then checked in on House, who was awake again.

"How are you feeling? You can take some more Ibuprofen in an hour. Hungry?" She asked quickly.

"Yes, actually." She nodded and turned away, but House reached for and latched onto her knee. Her skin burned and her blood turned to ice.

"We need to talk. _Talk_ talk, at some point."

She knew this was true – she'd been avoiding it by acting on instinct since he'd arrived.

"At some point." She agreed. _But not yet._ He let go of her leg and she went to make them some grilled cheese. They ate together in silence.

"I've decided to help you. I don't know why. But I have. Whatever you decide to do, I'll keep you in line."

He stared at her; she blushed.

_Why was she doing this?_

Before either spoke there was a knock on the door.

"But we need to discuss more," she added as she got up.

"We do."

Cuddy shushed him and motioned for him to lie flat before opening the door. Tom and Rachel stood on her front porch. Cuddy's face broke out in a huge grin as she hugged her daughter.

"How was school?" She asked, brushing the small child's hair out of her eyes. Rachel grinned back. "It was fun! Tom-Tom even gave me cookies!"

Cuddy smiled up at the man holding her daughter's hand, rising up to greet him.

"I hope that's alright?" He asked genuinely. Cuddy nodded nonchalantly.

"Why don't you go off to your room and Mommy will bring you a snack?" She turned back to her daughter. Rachel nodded and bounded off. The two adults watched her go as Tom wrapped his arms around Cuddy.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he nuzzled her neck. Shivers ran up and down her spine as they stepped into the house. She closed her eyes and reached up to muss his hair. He was kissing her shoulders when Cuddy remembered she had House on her couch. Her eyes widened in surprise and she broke away, facing Tom, and putting an arm on the doorframe so he couldn't pass.

"What's wrong?" He frowned.

"Nothing," She said, a little too quickly. He stepped forward, and Cuddy pressed her free hand to his chest. He looked hurt.

"I can't, not tonight." She bit her lip for the second time that day.

"Why not?" More frowning.

_My violent ex-boyfriend is asleep on the couch. That's all._

"I have a really big meeting about the new endocrinology lab's budget. I can't have any distractions."

He didn't look convinced, so Cuddy rose on her tippy toes and gave him a kiss.

"Soon. You know I love you."

Finally, he smiled and kissed her back. "Fine." With that, he retreated outside. "Good luck and good night."

Cuddy smiled and shut the door, pushing her back against it for a brief moment. She walked out of the entrance to find House staring at her with an amused expression.

Before he could open his mouth, Cuddy pointed an accusing finger.

"Shut up. You have no right." With that, she turned and stalked off.

**Thanks for your time, as always! **


	3. Calm Before The Storm

**I have two apologies:**

**One: It's kinda short. I apologize. That was unplanned, due to an also equally unplanned wrist injury. Which makes life a whole lot more difficult.**

**Two: The end is so not creative. I'm sorry. The next chapter will be better. I found myself in a rut and no way to get out besides finishing the chapter. But it could be worse.**

* * *

As the days went on, House grew stronger. It was certainly not enough for his physical wounds to heal, but enough for him to not sleep trough the daylight hours. As this alertness increased, so did his boredom; he hated being inside and doing nothing and soon grew restless on Cuddy's couch.

His agitation grew; her paranoia and anxiety did as well. It got to the point where she had to hit him or threaten to throw him out before he obliged to what she was asking.

Cuddy sent Rachel to her aunt's for the long weekend. Things needed to change, and though she hated it, Rachel needed to be out of there for a few days. Sure, House had told her the story of how he got there, but there was still so much to discuss.

Such as... _Now what?_

To find the answers, Cuddy cornered him in the kitchen, where he was making himself a bagel. She placed a hand on her hip.

"House." She used her Dean of Medicine voice.

"Mmm," House replied, clearly more interested in his masterpiece. He didn't turn around, but Cuddy still set her face in an unpleased expression and leaned on the counter. She tapped a foot. House stole a sideways glance, making no effort to hide the fact he was checking her out.

Cuddy cocked her head, straightened, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?" He relented.

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About... _This_!" She gestured to empty air. "It can't just go on like this. You can't just sleep on my couch! I would like to be able to open my curtains and have a social life!"

"Is this about Tom? If so, was the curtain part a metaphor?"

"No, this is not about Tom." She said, frustrated. "It's about me doing you a favor, and you and me figuring this thing out!"

"Okay, okay, you've got my attention!"

"Can we discuss this like proper adults?" Cuddy asked, slightly calmer.

House nodded, slathering his bagel in cream cheese. The two made their way to the dining room.

"First thing, you can't stay on the couch," she motioned to the messy living room.

"In your attic, then?"

Cuddy fought to stay composed, a million emotions struggling to surface. "No, genius. I have an extra room."

What exactly _were_ those feelings? Anxiety, nervousness, paranoia, frustration, disbelief, concern, wariness. Sometimes, she thought she was contradicting herself in her emotions, if it was even possible. When she felt it all at once, though, it usually turned into a panic attack.

"So, in the extra room, then."

She glared. She was determined not to have a panic attack today. "I have a plan."

"Oh, goody. Those come in handy." Sarcasm was clear in his voice. Cuddy chose to ignore it, getting up and heading through the dining room and up the staircase. They passed Rachel's room, and then Cuddy's, and at the end of the L-shaped hallway came to a simple bedroom. It was navy blue in color, with white crown moldings. It had a bureau and a desk, as well as a closet. In the middle was a small double bed.

"Welcome to your new home," Cuddy said bluntly. House stepped in, observing his surroundings. "Not bad. But won't people notice me living here when you regain this so-called social life?"

She shook her head. "You will use that chair to make sure it's locked the whole time by propping it against the doorknob. I think I'll put a little display table there in front of the door and tell people it was an old wood workshop or whatever and I don't want Rachel getting into it."

House contemplated; shrugged. "Works, I guess."

"It will." She said firmly. "Now, go clean up my living room and move your things up here."

The moving was much shorter than the cleaning. As Cuddy watched with an eagle eye, House made her living room spotless – in simpler terms, as it had been before him.

It took most of the day – she gave him a huge grin as he collapsed, finished, exhausting and glaring. She said she had to go into the hospital for the other half of the day and that he was up to his own devices. He chose to watch TV.

When Cuddy got home she headed straight to the shower as House made himself dinner. They ate in silence in front of the TV, both drifting in and out of the room as the night dragged on. They both retired early.

Cuddy made her way down the hall to his room. She stopped in the doorway; House was wearing nothing but boxer shorts. The ugly bruises still covered his abdomen; Cuddy refused to glance at his leg.

He pulled back the covers and noticed her then, stopping. She offered a good-night smile, but it grew faint as she studied the bruising.

"They're really bad," she said, coming into the room. House watched her come towards him and lightly touch the exposed skin. He grimaced, ignoring – and hoping she didn't notice – the goose bumps it gave him.

"I'm fine," she said gruffly, crawling into bed and lying on his back to stare up at Cuddy like a child. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled back the covers to once again reveal his stomach. Ever so gently, she prodded at the purple, swollen area.

"It's bad, House. Like, hospital visit bad."

Fear pulsed through him and he quickly pulled up the covers and turned his back on her.

She stared at his back and sighed. "Night, House." He heard the soft patter of her footsteps as she retreated to her own room.

* * *

Neither of them slept that well that night, often one would wake up to the other's nightmares. Cuddy was drinking coffee in the kitchen when House joined her. Her curly hair was all over the place and bags were visible underneath her eyes. He wasn't all that much better – he looked a lot like he had that first night. Neither of them spoke, but sipped their coffee timidly in the first rays of sunlight.

Later in the day, Cuddy showed House the clothes she'd bought him – he had arrived with next to nothing. She made him try them on and seemed satisfied.

Silence defined most of their time together – they had nothing to say to each other. As they ate lunch, Cuddy caught him staring at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Why did you take me in?" He asked. Cuddy shifted uncomfortably. Truth be told, she didn't really know.

"I don't know."

"Well, you should know." His abruptness took her by surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"You should know why you took me in, for how long, what you're going to do about it, how it'll work..."

"Well, I'll keep you here until you give me a reason to kick you out, or one of us sees fit otherwise. It'll remain our complete secret, but I do plan on having my own life.

"Don't get me wrong – this week is peaceful, but you will have to listen to me and make sacrifices." She took a bite of her sandwich to punctuate her point. House blinked and then nodded. Without another word, he got up and put his dishes away.

This was how it was – they avoided each other for most of the day. And yet, it wasn't awkward. They shared a few words but what either said was important.

"So you'll get back to work, and I'll stay here? And what, laze around and be your prisoner?"

"You'll become of use to me," she replied firmly. "I'll think of something."

Life went back to normal, or as normal as it could be with a fugitive 'ghost' in your house. Sunday night, House tracked down Cuddy.

"What comes now?"

"I go back to work, and we figure things out step by step, as they come. Which reminds me, how are your bruises?"

"Fine," he brushed her off. She didn't believe him for a second. They were as bad as before, turning an ugly yellow and brown.

She gave him a warning with her eyes. "If this goes on for the next week, we have to do something more."

House nodded, distracted. It took her a moment to place it – he was amused.

"What?" She asked indignantly. The doorbell rang; House's grin grew wider.

"What did you plan to do about Rachel?"


	4. Storm Clouds

**I don't care if this chapter doesn't make sense. It was late at night and it took an unexpected turn, but I love the corresponding fallout even if the medicine makes no sense. What actually happened doesn't matter, just the reaction.**

**I apologize for the f-bombs. But really, House would swear 24/7 in real life. And trust me, anyone would be swearing in this particular situation.**

**ALSO, my computer and keyboard are in some kind of strife that I'm not gonna even try to fix. I apologize for any typos and grammar mistakes.**

Cuddy paled and stared wide-eyed at House. He gestured that he'd go place himself somewhere and that she should probably go open the door. Cuddy gave him an exasperated look and shooed him away with her hands. She waited until he was safely out of sight before answering the door.

She greeted her sister and her daughter, absentminded the whole time.

_Maybe I should put House to the test…_ She thought, smirking at the idea.

"Want to come in for tea or something?" She asked her sister, Julia.

"Sure, why not." Julia shrugged and stepped inside. Rachel ran off to her room, Cuddy watched her go, shifting uncertainly from foot to foot. Staring at the place where she knew House was, Cuddy unwillingly followed her sister.

"I see you got new windows…" They small-talked for a little while, until Julia abruptly shifted gears. "Are you alright, Lisa?"

"What?" Cuddy blurted. "I'm just fine."

Her sister squinted at her. Cuddy shifted uncomfortably.

"You seem edgy. And there's bags under your eyes." Julia accused.

"Big Endo project is taking its toll," Cuddy lied with a shiny smile.

"Oh yeah, how's that going?"

Cuddy explained it to her sister, and then they moved on to subjects that allowed her to breathe again. Eventually, Julia left.

Cuddy felt reassured – House hadn't made a sound, and even though it was impossible to stop being incredibly terrified every time someone was inside, a part of her began to trust him. She went searching for him and found him in the room with the washing machine and dryer. She slid open the door.

"It's all good," she said. House practically fell out of the crowded space.

"Jesus, how long does it take you to answer the door? My first white hairs are growing in," he limped away from her. Cuddy rolled her eyes; despite his nonchalant demeanor, she could tell he'd been just as nervous as she had.

* * *

Cuddy slipped into House's room just before Rachel's usual wake-up time, offering coffee. She leaned on the desk.

"We need to tell Rachel today," she said, sipping at the warm liquid.

"Yeah, just go and tell the little child there's a living ghost in the house," he snorted.

Cuddy curled her fingers around her mug pensively. "That's not a bad idea."

"Are you serious?"

"Think about it. That way, if it does slip out of her mouth, no one would second guess it."

House gave a hopeless shrug. "Do what you want; I'm dead."

She glared. "I'm going back to work today."

He feigned surprise. "Hallelujah! Shout it out to the world!"

"Don't mess up my house," she warned. He stared back with solemn eyes.

She grinned teasingly in reply. "Now, show me the bruises. Quickly - Rachel's up in five."

"Mom," House whined.

"Shush," she scolded, lifting up his shirt as he squirmed. The sight made Cuddy gag. They were awful and infected. House watched her as she let go of his shirt.

"How are you not affected?"

"Whoever said I wasn't?" House said bitterly. "It hurts like a bitch."

She stared at him. "That's it, we're doing something more."

"Like what?"

"Why are you so reluctant to get better?"

He clenched his teeth, refusing to answer. Cuddy shrugged her shoulders in a _why-do-I-even-try_ manner.

"House. This could kill you," she said slowly as if he was stupid. This agitated him.

"What are you planning to do about it?!" He exploded. This blindsided Cuddy; she blinked.

"I don't know." She sighed.

"Seems to be your answer to a lot of things lately," he muttered. She passed a hand through her hair.

"I work at a hospital. I'll think of something." Just then Rachel called for her. Tiredly, she straightened.

"I'm going to go to work now. Don't screw up my house," she warned a final time before leaving. House shuffled over and shut the door behind her. Staring through the keyhole, he watched as Cuddy greeted her daughter with a hug and a smile.

* * *

"Have I really missed this much?" Cuddy asked, disbelieving. Sela Kearns, one of the more experienced nurses who had become Cuddy's assistant and secretary, peered up. Sela was a little younger than Cuddy, and Cuddy guessed her closest friend in the new town. Ignoring her own paperwork, Sela watched as Cuddy filed through the stack of papers on her desk.

"Well, that's what happens when the Dean of Medicine misses a few days."

Cuddy exhaled through clenched teeth.

"You'll get through it," Sela encouraged. Cuddy gave her a faint smile before diving into the papers in front of her. She worked incessantly for a few hours and then took a coffee break.

She stood outside the hospital as she sipped at her second cup of the day. She stared up at the building – this was her baby now. It was new compared to Princeton-Plainsboro, which had always been familiar. It was smaller, too, and not as successful. But Cuddy was certain she'd get it there, like she had done to PPTH. She finished her coffee, taking a minute outside before returning to the seemingly endless workload. She checked her phone – one message from Tom, requesting her to call him back. Nothing from House. She quickly dialed her home.

"It's me, Cuddy-" she said to the answering machine.

"House." He picked up.

"Just checking in."

"Everything's good, bye-" He went to hang up.

"House." Sternly, she stopped him.

"Yes, Mom?"

"Don't get in trouble, now."

He sighed dramatically. "Of course not, Mom."

"Rachel will be home at 2:30."

"I'll make sure to be in the kitchen naked."

She rolled her eyes though she knew he couldn't see her.

"Okay. Bye," she hung up before he had the chance to.

House hung up the phone and looked around. He was incredibly bored. Watching TV, reading the newspaper, and going online were all growing thin on him.

He soon grew wary of the empty house as well. For the past month he'd been alone, with no close human contact. He never particularly embraced silence, no matter what he said. And now that Wilson was gone… He didn't even want to venture there.

He was still in shock. It still hadn't dawned that Wilson was permanently gone. He didn't allow himself to acknowledge it. He feared if he did, it would be the end of him as well. And yet again, he felt the need to be strong for Cuddy. Though she was aware of how fragile he was, he had the impulse to protect her. House also refused to acknowledge anything else on the subject of Cuddy – he couldn't, not now, possibly not ever.

Wandering around the quiet house, alone, it was incredibly difficult to fight off some of these thoughts. And sleep was definitely not an escape: terrifying nightmares often led to night sweats and panic attacks. He often took to just walking around, it helped his leg as well. He stopped in the living room.

On a whim, he headed towards the window, which was curtained. Taking a breath, he used the cane to part it. He wasn't sure what he expected to feel – possibly a rush of some kind of emotion, but nothing came. No exhilaration, no longing, no satisfaction; though the act would've given Cuddy a heart attack.

The street was quiet and normal on the sunny day. House peered at the houses up and down. No movement came from them. He suspected they were empty, but then again, this house wasn't.

He vaguely wondered when the next time he'd step a foot outside would be. He didn't expect it to be soon. He didn't miss it yet, in any case. He raised his cane to pull the curtain back more.

A searing pain shot through his abdomen and he stumbled back, the curtains falling back into position with some hint of dramatic finality.

* * *

Meanwhile, Cuddy was briskly walking back to her office when Sela wheeled her chair backwards from her desk and raised an arm to stop the Dean. Cuddy, in turn, kept walking and raised one hand as well.

"Doctor-"

"I'm unavailable, Sela, for the time being."

"That's all very well, but-"

Cuddy turned at the door. "I'm going to go into my office now."

"But, Lisa-" Cuddy shut the door and Sela sighed, returning to her work. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Cuddy flipped her phone onto her desk and was walking around to the other side when she was finally aware of another presence in the room. She stopped, a lump forming in her throat.

"Tom." She managed slowly, studying the man in the corner. He took a step forward and smile; Cuddy was slow to return it.

"Something up? You seem dazed."

Cuddy blinked and shook her head. "What? No, no. Everything's good." She found a sudden interest in organizing her desk. He came nearer, placing a thumb under her chin and forcing her to look him in the eyes.

"I know you better than that."

Cuddy's stomach did and uncomfortable flip as she was caught up in his gaze. She smiled weakly. "Well. Um, just have this Endo breakthrough."

He removed his hand and she hesitantly continued her previous task.

"Not to be rude, but why are you here?" She asked. He shrugged and leaned on the desk.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out for lunch."

Cuddy's breath caught. _But… House… at home… alone… unattended for hours on end…_ No, she had to go home – it was the first day - no matter what.

She smiled apologetically.

"Uh oh, I know that smile."

"I'm sorry, with-"

He gave her a quick peck on the lips. "I know, I know. I'll see you later then, maybe."

She smiled sadly – genuinely. "Yeah, maybe."

He closed the door.

She sighed.

_But probably not._

* * *

Cuddy put down her purse and proceeded to take off her shoes, looking and listening for House. Neither providing any clue, she braced herself for what he had done to her house.

It was exactly as she had left it. Stunned, she twirled around. "House?"

No answer.

"House!"

She stepped into the living room, eyes scanning the gloomy room. Her breathing stopped as her eyes fell on the motionless figure on the floor. She dropped to her knees and had two fingers to his carotid in a second. His pulse was faint.

A list of swear words formed in her brain, but Cuddy pushed that and the hysteria down.

_Calm. Focus. And go._

She flew into the kitchen and breathlessly grabbed the phone, dialing the hospital. She stopped just before hitting talk, erased the number and dialed Sela.

"Yes?"

"It's Lisa Cuddy. I need… I need an ultrasound machine and operation equipment."

"Why-"

"_Now_, dammit!"

* * *

House was splayed out in Cuddy's bathtub, ultrasound machine on his stomach. The owner of this bathtub was frantically studying the screen.

"Dammit, House." She spoke to herself in a hushed tone.

"How do you always get off so lucky?" The rip was small and on his spleen. Nonetheless, Cuddy would have to operate. Positioning herself, she dosed House and reached for the scalpel.

"How the fuck do you get yourself into these things?" She made the first incision. "No, more importantly, how the fuck do I get involved?" She located the spleen and the blood-gushing tear. "I was going to have a good life. A nice one." She started the stitches tenderly after stopping the onslaught of blood. "And then you came along, you sonavabitch." She weaved in the last one, and started on the skin. "How?" She whispered. "How? She repeated. "How how how how how how _how_?" Finished, she scurried backwards into the wall, hands trembling, eyes burning.

"Why? Why do you do this? Why do I do this?" Curling up into a ball, she let the first waves of the panic attack come.

* * *

Much, much later, House was in his bed, Cuddy curled up in a chair, waiting for him to come to, if he would, but he did, albeit groggily. She stared at him, wide-eyed and silent.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He croaked. A faint amusement overcame Cuddy's face for a millisecond before it was washed away by irritation. She frowned.

"Shit, House, you almost died!"

He shrugged.

She raised her arms in a _whatever_ gesture. "Okay. Whatever. No big deal…" She started to pace, and hit a wall.

"Dammit, you almost fucking died!" She screamed hysterically, the tears starting to fall as her rage boiled over. "I just performed surgery on you in my bathtub!"

She paused and they stared at each other. She wiped her cheeks. "This is insane. I'm going to bed." She stormed out.

"Sleep well , Cuddy," he said softly to her back.

* * *

The next day began as the one precedent had, as if nothing had ever happened. Cuddy sure as hell hoped it wouldn't end the same. Pushing any thought of yesterday out of her head, she got up, got ready, got Rachel ready, dropped her off at school and returned home before heading into work.

House was groggily half-conscious as she checked the incision. It didn't seem infected and the swelling seemed to be going down a mile a minute. She exhaled in relief without even noticing she'd been holding her breath. She sat on the end of the bed and waited as House came to. He blinked at the figure.

"I'm going to tell Rachel today." She said, to the point. Grimacing, House sat up.

"Okay," he said groggily, having no effort to fight. She dipped her head.

"Okay," she echoed and rose. "I'm going to work now. Ibuprofen and water is on the desk, so is a thermos of soup if you're feeling hungry. Complete with crackers. There's a phone here too, and you can use those empty bottles of laundry detergent to pee in."

House closed his eyes and collapsed back down. "You're a dream."

She grinned in a sarcastic kind of way. " I wish."

* * *

Sitting in her car, Cuddy took a deep breath – oh, how she really didn't want to do this. The idea of work – and all the questions – really wasn't appealing. She had to face it someday though.

Walking briskly, she barely slowed at Sela's desk. "I don't want any questions until 10:30." She whispered. Sela rolled away from the desk and peered up at her boss. "But, Lisa –" She stopped and sighed. "Alright."

"Thank you," Cuddy called over her shoulder as she opened her office door.

She spent the next few hours alternating between dozing off, paperwork, emails, and staring off blankly into space. Yet, by the time it was 10:30, she felt as if she had been fairly productive.

Then the questions started.

At 10:45 she returned the equipment and filled out the paperwork. Sela observed.

"Why did you need all this?" The other woman asked. "What the hell were you doing last night?"

_Operating on a dead guy,_ Cuddy thought, and said instead, "I was concerned about our cat. Thought she was going to need an immediate C-section to deliver her kittens."

Sela blinked suspiciously. "Did you use it?"

Cuddy finished the paperwork and turned to her, staring at and studying her for a full moment.

"No," she lied, holding Sela's gaze for a beat longer before returning to her regular daily work.

She was being productive, and quickly making up for lost time. Still, she was distracted, as her mind kept drifting back to House and Rachel. Every time she thought about the eventful night ahead nervous butterflies threatened to overwhelm her.

She wondered vaguely about her daughter's reaction. Would she just blink dumbly? Not understand? Fully grasp the situation? Would Rachel remember House? That thought alone made Cuddy bite her lip in anxiety. Would she remember how he had crashed through their living room window? How Cuddy picked up the shattered pieces of her life and came here?

More often than not, however, House occupied her mind. You could almost call it a strange distant fascination with man was insane, but incredibly wounded physically and emotionally. She repeated the scene when he first arrived over and over in her head, wondering again and again why she opened the door and took him in.

She debated calling home, but figured he was asleep. Which he was. House dozed in and out of consciousness all day. He woke up in fits of terror, many images from the past infiltrating his otherwise undisturbed sleep. Another, different bathtub operation. Watching Wilson suffer though his own treatment plan. Remembering how Wilson deliriously drifted in and out of consciousness for the last days of his life; sometimes not remembering House. Searing pain from the infarction. All of these memories and more tortured his unconscious mind.

His leg was starting to become a problem, too. He had, thanks to his year of pill-freedom, been able to cope – until now. The pain came from everywhere and was of an incredibly high degree. The only release was sleep, and, well, sleep wasn't fun.

Most of the time.

In between the horrors, there was bliss. Strange, impossible fantasies of him and Cuddy. None at all were realistic, and most had some element of surrealism. They unsettled him just as badly as the nightmares when he awoke – forming any kind of attraction to Cuddy and admitting it, even to himself, was unthinkable. He appreciated Cuddy only as a re-established friend nowadays, and concluded that the pleasant and oddly sexual dreams as pain relief for his fevered mind and body.

Despite his state, he managed to feel and decidedly expose one thing: his disapproval of Tom. Why? He didn't really know why he disliked the guy.

Tom just… irked him.

* * *

Satisfied with her day's work, Cuddy turned off her office lights in an overall contented mood despite everything.

Giddily, she walked to her car and was surprised to see someone leaning on it. Approaching cautiously, she quickly made out the figure as Tom and immediately relaxed. Her smile broadened.

The late afternoon sun illuminated him fron behind, and he smiled in greeting. "You look happy," he said, stepping towards her.

"I decidedly am," Cuddy replied, setting her things in the backseat and turning to him. He didn't speak but cupped her face. Her heart raced and stomach flipped as he pulled her closer.

"You look good when you're happy," he murmured, staring into her bright eyes before studying her lips and kissing her. Cuddy relaxed into him as they parted lips.

"Come over tonight," he said,tucking her hair behind her ears. She looked at him in surprise.

He recognized the look. "Oh, c'mon, you can spare one night." He quietly added, "When's the last time we've had the chance to…" He trailed off.

She sighed. "I can't, Tom."

"One night!" He protested, wrapping his arms around her waist. Oh, how she wanted to! Her desire almost clouded over her stress from tonight. She nestled her head into his shoulder.

"You know I need more notice sometimes," she said. He stroked her hair, clearly unhappy. She stepped away.

"I love you, okay?" She pecked him on the lips. "And I'll see you tomorrow."

He relented. "Alright. Good night."

She smiled and turned the ignition. He stepped back and watched as she pulled out.

Cuddy headed straight to her daughter's school and greeted her with a huge smile, completely and utterly aware Rachel had no idea what was coming.

* * *

Cuddy was slicing an apple, palms clammy and heart palpitating. Closing her eyes for a split second, she called her daughter downstairs. "Rachel!"

At her name, the youngster bounded down the steps and tracked her mother into the kitchen. With bright eyes, she looked expectantly up at Cuddy. The latter smiled and handed her the snack and Rachel wheeled around to bound back upstairs when her mother's voice stopped her. She looked over her shoulder.

"There's something I need to tell you," Cuddy crouched down to her daughter's level, placing a hand on her shoulder. The five-year-old's smile faltered.

"It has nothing to do with you," Cuddy assured quickly, and Rachel blinked in confusion.

"You must promise to not tell anyone, ever. This has to be our secret." She said firmly. "Do you understand?"

Fully aware of Cuddy's tone of voice, Rachel nodded took a moment to study her daughter's face before continuing.

"We have a very sick man in the house. He is not well, Rachel, but he won't hurt you." She said fiercely. Rachel continued to listen intently, but Cuddy had nothing else to say.

"You speak of this to no one, not ever. There will be serious consequences if you do." Cuddy's voice had taken its Dean of Medicine tone, which was the one she often used on House. Rachel blinked. Cuddy's voice softened. "Come, let me show you," she got up and took her daughter's hand, and together they made their way to House's room.

He was lying with his back to the door, unfocused and weak, but awake. Cuddy stopped in the doorway.

"House," she called softly. He took a moment to turn around.

More emotion than he expected hit him. Rachel had grown up so much since he'd last seen her. His eyes raced to take her in: her smallness, her innocence. Rachel stared back, a calm recognition washing over her face. She walked over to him, and House's features flashed with uncertainty.

Rachel paused at the edge of his bed, and the two made eye contact. House searched her eyes and Rachel's gaze remained steady. Something was shared between them: a silent promise, a re-established friendship. House eventually relaxed, and Rachel crawled up onto the bed beside him.

Cuddy smiled from the doorway, the apples long forgotten downstairs.


	5. Letters from the Past

**Guess who's tour I have tickets to? :D **

Cuddy set down her groceries and checked her mailbox. She took out the mail and frowned as it felt abnormally heavy. Looking at the first envelopes, she picked up the bags and shouldered into her home.

It was a Saturday evening, a week or so after the last mishap with House. He was seated in her den, watching TV; Rachel sat in front of him on the floor, playing with some toy cars. Cuddy popped her head in for a second before she went to the kitchen to put her bags on the counter. Completely ignoring everything else, she spread out the day's mail on the table, eyes growing wide as she passed from one to the other.

James Wilson.

James Wilson.

James Wilson.

James Wilson.

Eric Foreman.

Allison Cameron.

She swallowed. "House? I think you should come here."

"Why?" he called gruffly.

She suddenly found it hard to talk. "Just get over here."

She heard a sigh and then the shuffle of his limp as he made his way to her side. When he entered the room, he stared at her expectantly, and she just stared back. His gaze then turned to the display of letters, and as Cuddy gauged his reaction, his eyes softened and his jaw muscle released.

As she watched, the corner of his lips turned up into a smile.

* * *

That night Cuddy crawled into bed and shakily picked up a first letter. As she had watched, House had arranged them into an order.

"You should open them in this order," He said as he tried to leave. She wasn't letting him off that easily, and stopped him, narrowing her eyes as she judged his motives.

"If you know about these letters…" She started slowly, "Are they for you?"

He looked at her like she was stupid. "Is my name Lisa Cuddy? They're obviously addressed to you."

He turned around, but not fast enough as Cuddy caught the knowing smirk.

Skeptic, she avoided opening the letters all day. To be honest it kind of freaked her out. She did everything else, but temptation ate away at her, and here she was, lying in bed, one of several letters from James Wilson clutched in her hands.

Delicately, she traced the lip of the letter with her fingers, eyes burning with unshed tears. Slowly, she ripped it open, taking out the paper it contained as if it were the most precious thing she owned.

And, for the night, it was.

_Dear Cuddy,_

_We miss you here. There just seems to be something missing now that you're gone, kind of like a queen-less hive of bees. And, though it isn't said, Foreman isn't you._

_I'm incredibly saddened that it all came down to this. In retrospect, what did we think was going to happen? Were any of us ever fooled into thinking any of it would end well? You and I, we both should've known better. If we couldn't have protected House, we should've at least protected ourselves._

_Yet, the man still has something. I'm sure he's explained how he faked his own death to spend the last few months with me. I don't think any of us realize the stupidity – and bravery – that takes. His life is literally nonexistent. And after I go… What will happen to him?_

_I sincerely hope this – and he – will get to you. He told me his plan, and I'm doubtful. But maybe you two can pull it off. I hope you do._

_But this isn't about him. This letter is about us. I'm dying, Cuddy. I'm going to be dead before the next full moon. You've been one of my closest friends, so I wanted to say thank you, and goodbye, and actual goodbye, from me to you._

_Stay strong!_

_Your Friend,_

_James Wilson_

She traced over the last six words, over and over, until it was a constant motion, helping to soothe and comfort her. Something about this letter made him even more dead in her eyes.

She broke down, some stray tears cascading onto the paper. She curled into a ball, a grief-stricken wreck, the night like a blanket, protecting her from everyone else in the world as she mourned the death of one of her only true friends.

* * *

The next morning was bleak. House and Cuddy sat tiredly together at the table. She absentmindedly drank her coffee. House watched her, her eyes still puffy and red.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"You read Wilson's…"

"Goodbye letter? Yes."

He nodded. "Why didn't you call?"

She was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

His eyes flashed angrily, but his voice remained steady and calm. "You knew he was dying, but you didn't do anything. No calls, no cards, no support, nothing."

"I-"

"Oh, let me guess, you don't know?" He snorted.

She clenched her fingers. "I never meant to hurt Wilson. I needed – _needed_ – to forget that life, and start this one – and that included Wilson. I wasn't his best friend; that was your job, House. I never meant to hurt him."

"But you did." It was very quiet. She got up, gave him an exasperated look.

"Whatever. I'm going to work."

* * *

Work helped her calm down a tiny bit. However, at the same time, she was a hurricane of productivity when she was pissed. Sela shot her impressed looks all day but was wise enough to stay out of Cuddy's way.

She was actually able to relax for a bit, doing some easy email replying in her office. Her phone rang and she reached for it, a hair length away from pressing Talk when she glimpsed the caller ID. Tom. She… She just couldn't talk to him right now. Swallowing, she stared as it rang, and then ignored it.

Feeling disrupted, The Dean then decided to take her lunch break. She paused on the car, took a steadying breath, and opened the glove box; the set of letters fell out. She picked one up.

_Cuddy,_

_House is broke. Like really, really broke. He has nothing, and if he did have something, I'm sure he'd pitch in. He left me his money, which I am, in turn, leaving to you. I hope it gets to you in the next few weeks._

_Remember, you're doing a good thing._

_Your Friend, _

_James Wilson_

Once again, Cuddy slipped the letter carefully back into the envelope. She sat back, pondering over it, before turning the ignition.

* * *

House was lying on the couch in the dark, eyes pinched closed and one hand on his forehead. The other was messaging his thigh – up and down, rough and gentle.

It wasn't that bad, not yet, just a dull, rolling throb. He wasn't stupid; he knew it'd only get worse.

He hadn't had Vicodin in four weeks. Most of the time it hadn't bothered him too much because other things were more important and created a much bigger pain. But now was the whiplash, coming back stronger than ever.

He heard the door open, managed to muster the strength to get up. He winced, then walked slowly to the door, watching Cuddy shrug off her coat.

She glanced at him. "Are you alright?"

He glared. "Yes; fine."

"You sure don't look fine."

"I'm fine."

She dropped it. "I read Wilson's other letter."

"Which?" His voice had taken an odd tone that Cuddy couldn't place: slightly hopeful, slightly wishful.

"About the money," he followed her to the kitchen.

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah." Really, she had enough to go around, but House could be (more than just) a challenge, and the extra money would be like a reward in her mind.

They sat down at the kitchen table, eating in silence for a few minutes.

"I'm having a few people over tomorrow night," Cuddy announced. House didn't reply at first.

"Who?"

She shrugged. "A few friends."

He raised an eyebrow. "Friends?"

She shot him a look. "Surprisingly, I have friends."

He frowned in mock – or genuine? – surprise. "Sure. What about Tom?"

Cuddy cleared her throat. "No, he doesn't mix with the hospital crowd."

"_Riiiight_."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, body language clearly saying she wasn't in the mood to talk about Tom. For once, House respected this. The rest of lunch was relatively peaceful.

As soon as Cuddy left, House doubled over in pain, easily popping a few pills of Ibuprofen, knowing it really wouldn't do all that much.

The rest of the afternoon went by relatively normally, more normal than it had been in weeks. This surely didn't pass over Cuddy's head; she didn't think she had ever been happier for something that had always seemed to be given.

Normalcy. What a concept.

She was busy putting her hair up in a fancy ponytail when she spotted House in the mirror. He was leaning casually on the doorframe. Cuddy took her elastic out of her mouth, watching him watch her.

His eyes trailed down her body, inspecting her. Cuddy felt self-conscious and incredibly awkward.

His gaze roamed over sights he hadn't seen in a year; curves and dips he had been familiar with, edges he had once felt under his own rough hands.

He cleared his throat, feeling the tension in the air, the pure friction. "Pretty fancy for some of your work friends."

"You know me, I like to look good."

"_Oh_, I know."

Cuddy made a choking sound, strange goose bumps running up and down her body. "You should probably get going; the first few guests should be arriving."

House nodded slowly, knowing he had stepped over an unspoken line.

"Well, good night then. Have fun?"

She grinned at his doubtful last words. "I will."

* * *

She did.

It was a great night. They were five in total, and though she never relaxed, she still enjoyed the night.

As she shut the door behind the last guest, she took a step back, shaking slightly. There had been no reason for anyone to suspect anything was amiss, thank God.

A bittersweet feeling started in the pit of her stomach. Her life had begun to be comfortable – her new life, without anything from the past – but, as with everything, House had screwed that up, too.

She was beat, but she didn't have to clean up – she'd charge House with that tomorrow morning. Okay, there was one good thing about having him around.

She stumbled up to bed, drained. She had the incredible urge to read another letter though. She slid under the covers.

_Dear Cuddy,_

_Before Wilson left to go God knows where, he asked me to write this; to let you know how Princeton-Plainsboro is doing and such._

_I can assure you PPTH is in good hands and steadily improving itself, as always. I've just started to plan out a better ER, a project that should take a few years to fully do, but I'm confident._

_House left me something after he died. Actually, two things, but one is really for you. I have his guitar, something that should really be passed on. I don't need, or play, the guitar. I have no use._

_He said you might._

_Anyway._

_Regards,_

_Eric Foreman_

Cuddy put the letter on her night table, turning off the light and sinking into the mattress. Thoughts and memories ran through her mind, as pesky as a fly buzzing in your ear. She tossed and turned, but it all came flooding back. Not some of it, _all_ of it.

She started trembling, her chest tightening. She knew it was going to be a big one as the wave of hopelessness that usually set off the panic attack engulfed her. The most powerful symptom of them all was the utter dread that coursed through her blood; the anxiety of the past, present, and future that overtook her being.

She whimpered and cuddled further into the sheets, cursing her past, cursing the letters – cursing House.

* * *

House woke up the next morning with pain flaming through his leg. Every movement caused a tremor to shoot up into his core. He blindly flailed around for Vicodin before remembering he had none.

"Shit," He cursed, grinding his teeth.

Cuddy was already downstairs, absentmindedly stirring her coffee, watching it swirl around the spoon. She had had one of those nights where you feel more tired when you wake up than when you fell asleep. She was too busy musing to notice that House hadn't come down yet.

Sela caught her yawn, raising an eyebrow that Cuddy waved off. The Dean did, however, gladly accept the cup of coffee offered.

"You're late."

"Rough night."

"Not really. I was there."

Cuddy blushed, embarrassed. "A lot of cleaning up."

Sela gave a half nod, unconvinced. "Tom's in your office."

Cuddy sputtered. "He _what_?"

"He's in your office."

"He's got to stop doing that." She muttered.

"He seemed surprised to learn about last night's party."

Cuddy's eyes flashed. "You told him?"

She shrugged. "I thought you had invited him, and he was just busy!"

Cuddy sighed. It was too early to deal with this. She picked up some files in her free hand.

"Well, tell him I'm still not in." She spun around, ignoring the other eyebrow that rose to join the first.

_I'm pulling a House,_ she remarked as she locked herself in a currently unused patient room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her mug, laptop, files, and the letters, of which three remained.

She really dreaded opening the next one, especially after this last one – which really hadn't been all that personal – and it happened to be from Cameron.

Oh boy.

Much more thoughtlessly than those previous, Cuddy tore it open and steeled herself for what was to come.

_Dear Cuddy, _

_I know we didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things, but I think we owe this to each other. Or, at least, to House._

_But first, a little about me and my new life. I live out near Chicago, head of one of the fastest growing ERs on the planet. I've remarried, and I have a son – Connor. He's about eighteen months old now._

_I think I owe my start to House, and to you. You both jumpstarted all of our careers, and where House taught us the greater (and lesser) rules of life, you were always the better role model._

_House left me with a few things, one being the one and only Steve McQueen. The other wasn't said, but it was obvious._

_He cared about you. We all knew he did, but I guess I have to be the one to say it. He was a changed man after you – not in any fundamental way, but he was a little less there when you left. Now that he's gone, I suppose it's up to me to say these things. He never stopped, never, his rage and jealousy driving him over the edge, because it was him that would destroy things without ever meaning to._

_I miss him._

_Regards,_

_Allison Cameron_

She threw away the paper, hands shaking, feeling the last of what she thought she knew being ripped apart; complication upon complication.

She didn't know what to think, what to feel. She stormed out of the room, not knowing what else she could possibly do.

* * *

She didn't go home for lunch, feeling slightly sick, and definitely not in the mood to be around House. Or Tom.

He incessantly called. She was irritated. Alright, fine, her ignorance of him wasn't nice either, but of all the men she had ever dated, he was the only one who called this much.

She kind of hated it, kind of loved it.

Oddly enough, the only thing she could think of doing that would calm her down was reading another letter. The last two were from Wilson, who used to be who she would talk to when she was all worked up.

_Cuddy,_

_Who else am I going to leave my stuff to? Some of it is being donated, some of it is going to family, and some of it is going to you. And there are House's things too, though I don't exactly know what you'll salvage or need._

_Do with them what you will._

_Your Friend,_

_James Wilson_

A new project. Cuddy liked projects. And this one wasn't too hard. It would be good for her.

She called it an early day, leaving the hospital at mid-afternoon.

She set the table and called her daughter and House to eat. Rachel bounded down the stairs; House trailed a little more slowly from the den. Cuddy watched is progress, concerned. He gave her a glare as he rounded the couch, but stumbled, his breath escaping through clenched teeth.

She shot up from her seat, ready to aid. He continued to glare through his pained state, sitting down heavily.

"You're not okay."

"I'm fine."

"No! I'm not doing this again. Remember what happened last time?"

He grunted in reply.

"Your leg is acting up?" She asked softly.

"My leg never acts down," He muttered.

"What's that?"

"I'm _fine_." He assured.

She dropped the subject. "I have one left."

House exhaled. "Thank God."

Cuddy gave him a strange look, narrowing her eyes. House ignored her.

"Why don't you go ahead and read it now?" He sounded like an excited child.

Something clicked. "Did you write them?"

"The letters?" He laughed. "No."

"But you had something to do with them."

"Astute observation, seeing as they all had something to do about me."

Her eyes widened. "You planned them?"

He shrugged. "In a way."

She rolled her eyes. "You made Wilson write them, got him to make the others write, and got them all mailed at the same time?"

"Something like that."

Cuddy didn't respond, sorting it out in her head; trying to get Cameron's letter out of it.

"Open the last one now?" He practically begged.

"Fine." She tore it open.

_Cuddy,_

_Vicodin?_

_Your Friend,_

_James Wilson_

She glanced up to a knowing – relieved – smirk. Frustrated and feeling slightly betrayed, she left the room.

* * *

Later, when she came down for a glass of water, she spotted House in the kitchen. Pausing on the stairs, she watched as he stared down at the collection of letters on the table. He picked up an envelope, one of Wilson's, and ever so gently ran his fingers across the label. She watched as he inspected the stamp, felt the weight of the paper in his hands. He didn't notice her, but continued to observe and touch each one on the table.

A ghost of a smile drifted across her lips, and she crept back up the stairs as quietly as she could as to not disturb him.

**Thanks for everything, readers. You keep me writing!**


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